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I remember when we were younger, the lights would flicker on here. The street would glow.
I would turn and ask if it was too cold.
Now, the cracks in the glass are longer than they’ve ever been, and we can’t see inside anymore.
The harder we look, the more we see of ourselves, and the more I want to turn away.
If we wait long enough, maybe I won’t have to.
Maybe, even if for a second, we’ll be able to look inside that old house and see what’s left.
Maybe there’ll be more than just dust and old books to kick around.
Maybe there was something we missed.
The handle on the front door’s rusted shut.
In the yard, the grass is overgrown and colorless.
You tell me you caught a glimpse of something in the window.
I reassure you that it’s nothing, a reminder of the previous tenants.
The back door swings open, and we feel compelled to enter, as if led by an escort.
The chandelier’s on the ground, shattered.
The floorboards are torn up, and we’re left to walk on broken glass and rusted nails.
Up the stairs, rays of sunlight illuminate the dust in the air,
and we can hear pattering on the windows, a thousand hands pleading to be let in.
There’s wind, and it’s gasping. It’s screaming.
We shut the doors around us to drown out all the sounds.
There’s still an open one, though.
I’m pressing my hands on my window and looking out.
That single fucking light; it flickers on, and then dies out.
All I can see now is the street reflecting back at me,
raindrops trickling down the window.
The patter is a rattle now, and the wind is writhing.
I can’t stand it any longer,
so I turn to ask if you’re ready to leave,
but I can’t find you anywhere.
Something tells me you’ve been absent for quite a while.
released September 23, 2016
Ben Pisano - Electric bass, electric guitars, keyboards, percussion, programming, vocals